Just finished writing and publishing my first novel XP 12 years in the making - placed it on Goodreads - and I was delighted to receive the email today telling of poetry - felt so good to share the simple story of a farmer In Kansas - I'm discovering the marketing aspect of publishing an extraordinary challenge - a full time job and the sweetness of just typing a poem and clicking submit reminded me of the pleasurable act of writing and sharing - no sales involved - I do hope you read it but there are
hundreds so I'd love to simply share the poem with you right now

In Kansas

Before the farmer
killed the hen
he played his fiddle
& she fell fast asleep
her feathers still -
she never knew

He sang to his corn

Built dovecotes from fir & elm


Thought of rain as prayer


To him the soil was
a woman's skin
and he tilled it like
a lover

Each Sunday he placed Lilies of the Valley on his
wife's grave - missed watching her
brush her hair

Often he paused midday
to feel the sun burn his cheeks


Bowed for grace over every meal


The moment of the accident
he was not afraid - his only regret
that he had never learned
to read


The last color he saw was blue sky


His body lay in the field for two days


When they buried him
people swore
they heard music coming from
the grove of cottonwoods
near Buckner Creek - some sort of
lullaby

His sons decided to keep the farm
Surprised the neighbors
as they were city folk

They say the youngest hums
when he
carries the lamb
to slaughter

Alison M. Bailey